Just Pieces Passion, Pain, & Parody
by dragonnan
Summary: Answer to windscryer's challenge. Will feature preseason an season stories. Everything but character deaths will be explored. Also, no slash... pretty much keeping as close to canonstyle as possible with the exception of whumpage.
1. 1 Introduction

"My name is Sonny Crockett, and this is my partner Rico Tubbs." The woman in the doorway nodded in greeting, her expression blank. "Wanda Henderson. Would you two like to come in?" She turned, missing the elbow Gus dug into his friend's side. Shawn slapped back with two hands, but stilled instantly as the woman turned back to face them.

"I'm sorry, my house is a bit of a mess…"

Shawn nodded gently, following her inside. At his back, and quietly enough that the woman couldn't hear, Gus whispered fiercely, "Next time, I get to pick our undercover names!"

* * *

A/N: Okay, I resisted with all my heart and all my soul and all my mind... but this sneaky insidious challenge weakened my will and forced me to start writing this. Either that, or someone spiked my eggnog... 


	2. 2 Love

The small face peered up, the eyes still that pale blue inherent with the very young. She looked just like her mother, thought Juliet with a flash of happiness. Cradling the little bundle close, she rubbed noses, chuckling at the tiny sneeze it produced. Humming, she walked across her apartment, one hand softly tracing over the soft skull. There was a shaky mewl from the little body, and she kissed the forehead. She was definitely hungry. Distracted for a moment, she cast about until she finally located the bottle sitting on the counter. This was her first time interacting with someone this young, but she'd been reading a lot of books in preparation for her arrival. It was unfortunate that mother's milk wasn't a possibility, but that happened sometimes.

Opening the fridge, Juliet retrieved the container of formula from the middle shelf. Still holding the precious bundle against her chest, she used her other hand to ease open the formula lid. Then she really did need two hands, so she shifted her burden to the crook of her elbow, eliciting another miniscule complaint. Taking up the bottle, she removed the top and filled it partway with creamy liquid. In five minutes, she had a kettle of water heated on the stove. In no time, the formula was the right temperature, and she made her way to the couch in the living room.

Humming softly, she settled herself on the soft cushions. On the floor, warm yellow eyes gazed up at her. Juliet smiled at the fluffy black cat by her feet. "Hello there Sapphy!" Apparently interpreting that as an invitation, the feline leaped delicately up beside her, leaning in to sniff the bundle in Juliet's arms. Pulling away the bottle, Juliet allowed the creature better access. She grinned as the two beings touched noses. Blue eyes stared into gold. Reaching out, the woman caressed the little face. "Hey there baby, say hello to your momma." The black cat licked the tiny kitten across her brow. Still smiling, Juliet stoked a hand down the mother cat's back. "I think we'll call her Willow."


	3. 3 Light

There was something so oddly comforting about that soft blue glow. It really was a soothing balm. Who could have guessed that after a long arduous day at work, the sound of that grey box warming up would do more for his stress tightened muscles than the most overpaid masseuse in Bangkok? Lassiter shifted his shoulders, basking in the play of colors emanating from his television. The controller in his hand was as familiar and comfortable as his own weapon- and just as stimulating. As the opening sequence of the game started flashing across the screen, the detective felt his heart rate pick up. It was thrilling really, and he laughed to himself in anticipation of imminent carnage. Now he was at the login screen. Scrolling through the short selection box, he located IrishSniper007. Grinning, he waited for the next portion of the game to load. Then, after just a few seconds, he was at the lobby. Slowly, other names began adding themselves to the list on the right side of the screen. Monkeydancer7, backdoorbaddee, nekidpedestrian… who thought up names like that anyhow?

Then he sat up suddenly as another name… a recognizable name, filled one of the slots, quickly followed by a guest; secretsquirrel and midnightMcool. Carlton tightened his jaw. He hated these guys! Every now and then, they were on the game, and inevitably managed to follow him from map to map. They must have added him to their friend list, and now he was stuck with them for the evening. And it wasn't like they were bad players- on the contrary! As team-members, they guaranteed a win every time. No, what made Lassiter grind his teeth together was that, now and then, they seemed to get bored, and would start hunting "him"- whether they were on his team or not. They never damaged him enough for a 'betrayal' kill, which would have given him the opportunity to kick them out of the game. Instead, they just wore down his stats enough that another player would inevitably pick him off. It was infuriating! Tightening his fists around his controller, Carlton hunched his shoulders. Well he wasn't a quitter! He'd deal with these guys just like any common criminal he ever slapped in cuffs. Tonight, he swore, he'd get his revenge!

In another part of town, Shawn and Gus sat in their office, the plasma lit up before them. Shawn grabbed a handful of Goldfish as the map loaded for their game. Gus took a quick sip of orange soda. "You think Lassiter will ever catch on that it's us he's playing against?"

Shawn chewed, spitting crumbs as he responded. "Not a chance."

* * *

A/N: For non-gamers, they're playing Halo 3 Woohoo! 


	4. 4 Dark

He wasn't prepared for this. Hell, he was barely prepared to have a child to begin with, much less a kid like this. Always active, always talkative, always smiling, save in the presence of his father… until now. Now, he was completely silent. His eyes were still under his closed lids, and his small hands lay motionless at his sides. One of the few sounds in the room was the gentle pulse of the respirator, monitoring his breathing. The other sound was the quiet respirations of the kid's mother as she slept on the hospital chair by the window. Ten years old, and already in the hospital for bypass surgery. Unbelievable. They hadn't known, not until recently, that Shawn had a slight defect, what the doctors called an Atrial Septal Defect. It had been discovered when Shawn started showing signs of breathlessness after just short periods of play. At first, they'd suspected asthma. However, the doctor at the clinic discovered a heart murmur, and confirmed the problem shortly thereafter with an X-Ray.

The problem would never heal on its own, so, a few weeks ago, Henry and wife signed the necessary papers that would put their child under the knife. The surgery had gone fine, the problem, actually, had been fairly routine to repair. But still…

Shawn twitched slightly, his fingers rising off the mattress for just a second before relaxing once more. Henry wrapped his own fingers around his son's, his eyes unerringly going to the vertical scar on the boy's thin chest. He'd be stuck with that the rest of his life. But… he'd have a life. There was a rustle behind him as his wife stretched, yawning softly as she stood from her uncomfortable bed. Walking to his side, Henry felt her place a hand on his shoulder.

"You should rest."

Henry stroked a thumb over the back of Shawn's hand. "I'm not tired."

She rubbed the back of his neck, leaning forward to brush the bangs out of Shawn's eyes. "He looks good, his color is better."

Henry nodded, his other hand joining the first to clasp Shawn's hand between them. "Yeah."

They were both silent for a few moments, both studying the boy before them. Finally, Henry heard the woman beside him sigh. "Are we… are we going to be okay?"

Shawn took a breath… and another. Henry moved one hand to rest lightly on the kid's chest, feeling the warmth of the small body. Slowly, he dipped his head up and down.

"Yeah… we're going to be fine."

* * *

A/N: this was inspired by a posting on Psych's site. Someone noted that there's a part at the beginning of the Christmas episode where James Roday is wearing a shirt that's partially unbuttoned. At one point it gaps- showing a scar from heart bypass surgery. Now that I've rewatched it, there does appear to be some kind of pale scar. In any event, I couldn't get this idea out of my head after reading that. 


	5. 5 Seeking Solace

She was gone, and it was for good this time. He couldn't really blame her. Henry had never been the overtly emotional type. The closest he ever came to romantic was when he asked her to marry him. After that, as far as he was concerned, the deal was done. It just didn't occur to him that he was expected to keep wooing her after that. It wasn't like he was a bad husband. He never cheated, was never abusive, never drank too much, smoked cigars in the house, or stayed away for days at a time. In actuality, Henry thought of himself as an exceptionally considerate provider. He worked a steady job, willingly putting in overtime when possible. He cooked meals, took an active interest in the raising of their son, and kept his family safe. But…

He sighed, rotating the thick gold band with his thumb and forefinger. He'd been officially single for two hours. Oh, they hadn't met with the lawyers yet, hadn't signed any papers… but it was still official. Tonight, she was sleeping in a hotel on Henry's dime, and he was sleeping alone. Well… actually, he was sitting on the edge of a bed, staring at a circlet of gold that summed up all that he'd lost. He took a sip from the clear glass resting on the end table. The alcohol was harder than he typically liked, but tonight, he needed the warmth.

A hesitant knock at the door made him glance up to see the concerned gaze of his son peering through the doorway. "Shawn, you should be in bed son, you have school tomorrow."

Shawn bit his lip, gripping the door tightly with one hand. "Dad… is mom…"

Henry sighed again, gesturing his son over. Reluctantly, the young boy slid into the room, dropping down on the bed next to his dad. "Kid… your mom and I…" He paused, for the first time that he could remember, at a loss as to what he would say to his son. However, Shawn's eyes… deep with hurt… didn't really need the confirmation.

"She's not coming back."

Henry shook his head. "No."

Nodding shallowly, Shawn stood again, silently making his way from the room. Alone once more, Henry glared at the glass on his table. He felt the tiniest stirrings of temptation at the sight of that amber liquid. It'd be very easy to drown himself in liquor, let himself sink into a haze for this first night… it really couldn't hurt. But…

That look in Shawn's eyes.

Reaching out, he shoved the glass away. It wasn't just about himself. No matter how much it hurt, his child would be hurting more. And it was just the two of them now. Standing, he rubbed the back of his head. His kid would hate him, he was certain. However, the boy deserved an explanation. He was fourteen now… he was old enough to understand. Rubbing a hand across his eyes, Henry walked from the room; thinking that maybe, someday, he would be old enough to understand too.


	6. 6 Break Away

Karen Vick held the case file in one hand, her teeth pinching her lower lip in a tight grip. It was just too incredible. Only moments ago, her head detective, his face absolutely red with indignation, had left the observation room with orders to release the young man currently pacing around the interrogation room. They had no choice really, there was no real evidence linking him to the crime he'd been accused of committing. And, she swore to herself, the fact that he was the son of an old friend and former cop had no bearing on that decision. Detective Lassiter, in an apparent act of mild rebellion, had yet to return to the interrogation room. The young Spencer propped his backside against the metal table for a moment, arms crossed. Then, abruptly, he walked to the two-way glass, apparently checking his teeth. He rubbed his sleeve against one incisor, ran his tongue along his gums, then started fluffing his hair. Karen couldn't help but chuckle.

Shortly afterward, her head detective finally re-entered the room, his partner at his side.

"You're free to go, beat it." He said abruptly to the shorter man. Spencer flashed him a toothy smile.

"I'm feelin' the love, really I am! Come on, give me a hug!"

Karen blinked as the young man stepped towards the detective, his arms spread.

Lassiter's hand twitched towards his weapon, and he backed quickly. "You touch me and I put you away for assault- I promise you!"

Dropping his arms, Spencer titled his head back. "Killjoy."

Turning away, her detective walked towards the door. "Just get out of my station."

The self proclaimed psychic followed quickly… almost skipping as he made for the exit. "Dude, come on, don't I get my reward?"

Karen shook her head. Slowly, her eyes made their way to the file in her hand again. She must be out of her mind. What was whirling in her head was insane. It went against everything she'd been taught… and it was particularly risky considering her current tenuous position. However…

She tapped the edge of the file against her palm.

If she didn't solve this soon… she'd be out on her ass.

Of course, if her current bizarre idea failed…

And then she was walking for the door. Doing nothing wouldn't solve this. And she was out of traditional ideas.

She shook her head ruefully. Maybe, just maybe, non-traditional would be her saving grace.

She hit the doors at nearly a run.

"Mr. Spencer!"


	7. 7 Heaven

The office was so quiet, he could literally hear the soft hum of cars passing by outside. Today, they had solved a case. Today, they had been paid. And today, Gus had managed to keep the check from his partner long enough to deposit it into their account.

And now, two hours later, they were back at the office.

And Shawn was asleep.

Sure, he had grown to love some of their cases… as long as he wasn't obligated to interact with bodies or face the barrel of a gun. Or be cried on by a hysterical woman… or man… or cross dresser.

But for him… the part of the case he enjoyed the most was at the end, when they could both relax, feet propped, and drink in their victory.

He glanced across his desk at his friend, head pressed solidly against an old case file, mouth slack and drooling. It was actually pretty photogenic. Grabbing his phone, Gus slid from behind his desk and snapped a quick picture, attaching the image to Shawn's number. Humming to himself, he wandered over to the fridge, retrieving a carton of orange juice. Without bothering with a glass, he tipped back, swallowing a few mouthfuls before wiping his lips and sticking the carton back in the fridge. Then, yawning, he finally returned to his desk, jiggling his mouse to awaken his laptop screen.

Across the office, Shawn mumbled something unintelligible. Smiling slightly, Gus pulled up a saved game. Lacing his fingers, he cracked his knuckles loudly as the screen loaded. Finally, the game was ready. Pivoting his neck back and forth, he clicked start.

Time to beat Shawn's record.

Then afterward, he might hunt up a marker and draw a mustache on his friend's face.

Life was bliss.


	8. 8 Innocence

Why couldn't he have a brother? He'd even tolerate a sister at this point! It was tough being an only kid sometimes. Yeah, all this parental love directed solely at him! Shawn rolled his eyes. As if! And really, was a sibling all that much to ask for? He knew how it worked; heck- going to the grocery store for a carton of milk took longer than that! Kicking at a dirt clod, Shawn let himself drop into a sitting position. It was getting pretty hot out, but he couldn't go inside until he was finished. Wiping sweat off his brow, the young boy finally pulled himself back to his feet. A couple more scoops from the shovel and the hole was filled. Carefully, he patted the area flat with the heel of his shoe. Next door, he could hear the sounds of the moving truck pulling away. He remembered his father saying something about new neighbors, and there had been mention of a boy his age, but at the time, Shawn had been distracted by the television. Now though, as he smoothed a toe over his work, it occurred to him that close friends could be almost as good as siblings for certain situations. And actually, he thought he remembered his dad saying he should introduce himself.

Well, he wasn't one to ever disobey his father! He snorted loudly.

The sound of the back door sliding open startled him, and he quickly ditched the shovel by the side of the house. Rubbing his filthy palms on the seat of his pants, he wandered stealthily towards the front door… and ran smack into his father, glaring down at him thunderously.

"Shawn!"

"Eeeep! Dad!" He grasped his chest, breathing in sharply. How did his father do that!? Oh, right- mom… she must have been the one he heard out back. He could have smacked his forehead for his stupidity. "So…. How's it goin'?" He inquired lightly. His father just continued to glare, his gaze unblinking.

Shawn cleared his throat, looking down to study his nails. Hmm, they looked like they could use a good cleaning…

"Shawn."

He looked up again, shading his eyes a little in the sun. "Yeah dad?"

"Son, what happened to your mother's glass bird?"

Shawn scratched the back of his head. "Mom has a glass bird?"

"Shawn…"

"SHAWN HENRY SPENCER!" The screech from the back yard completely cut off anything his father was going to say.

He whipped his head around feeling his heartbeat speed up. There was no way this could end well. Pivoting his head back towards his father, Shawn gulped deeply. "Dad, it's not my fault!"

"Oh really Shawn? And who else could it be?"

Why did he have to be an only child, why, why, wh…. Wait… He screwed his eyes shut, a shred of hope blending with the sound of a young laugh next door. Suddenly, his eyes opened again, a newfound confidence straightening his shoulders.

"I didn't do it dad, it's not my fault!" He glanced at the fence separating their property from their new neighbors. "I hate to be a tattletale dad… but it was Gus!"


	9. 9 Drive

"G…Gus…"

"Hold on, just hold on Shawn, we're almost there!" Gus mashed his foot down until the gas pedal struck the floor. At his side, his best friend was panting heavily, a thick red stain growing around his midsection. Reaching out, Gus wrapped one hand tightly around Shawn's bicep. "Come on, stay with me!" His eyes flicked back and forth from the highway to the other man's face- noting that his breathing was becoming more ragged by the second.

Raising a shaking hand, Shawn suddenly clawed at his collar. "I can't- I can't bre- breathe…" He tore at the buttons, sending them in a scattering spray as he tilted his head back against the seat, gasping harshly.

"SHAWN!" Gus jerked the wheel as the small car swerved, desperately trying to control the vehicle while battling to keep his friend from clawing out his own esophagus. Shawn's desperate attempt to take in oxygen was becoming absolutely frantic as he made a panicked cry, arching his back and bracing one hand against the window. Gus clenched his jaw, shifting his grip to a rigid shoulder. Ahead, he could see the sign for the hospital- next right, just a few more minutes. "Come on, come on…" he murmured in sick fear, noting Shawn's skin had become clammy and pale… almost bluish. His raspy inhalations were torturous to listen to, knowing there was nothing that could be done- save for what was already being done.

A car jogged in Gus's lane, and he was forced to slam on the brakes, feeling the little vehicle shudder at the sudden deceleration. Slamming a fist on the horn, Gus rode the tailgate until the other driver, with a traditional salute, slid back into their previous lane. Ignoring the extended blast from the other car, Gus roared onward again, gripping the wheel with both hands and taking the exit so fast he was surprised he didn't go up on two wheels.

He caught a break at the light, barely starting to slow when it switched to green. Cutting across the intersection, he tore down the frontage road towards the emergency entrance. Moments before he entered the lot, Shawn's left hand suddenly shot to the side, snagging Gus's wrist. The wheel jerked again, and Gus fought back control before glancing again to the side. Shawn's eyes were wide, his chest hitching as he clutched at his throat with his free hand. But he wasn't breathing. Almost immediately afterward, the fingers wrapped around Gus's wrist went slack, and Shawn's eyes started to close.

"No…nononononoNO!" The car slid to a stop in front of the hospital, and Gus barely threw it in park before leaping from the vehicle and running around to the passenger's side, screaming at the startled medics already rushing towards him.

"MY FRIEND- SHOT… HE'S NOT BREATHING!!"

He yanked open the door, then felt himself pushed out of the way as two emergency techs filled the car opening.

"Does he have any neck injuries?" Inquired one of them sharply. Gus shook his head. "NO- HURRY, PLEASE!"

Carefully easing Shawn from the car, they immediately laid him out on the ground and started CPR. Shortly, another medic appeared with a doctor following closely on his heels. "Status!" He barked out sharply as he knelt down on the pavement.

"Gunshot wound to the upper right chest- the bullet may have punctured a lung- no respiration and bp is falling!"

"Okay people let's get him inside now!"

Still working on his friend, the cluster of medics managed to get Shawn on a gurney before racing him through the double doors. Pausing only long enough to push his car doors shut, Gus ran inside after the group.


	10. 10 Breath Again

His lungs screamed as he tried to gasp through the pain in his chest. Every inhalation burned, and there just wasn't enough air no matter how rapidly his chest moved. Blindly, he grasped at his side, feeling his fingers wrap around something fleshy and solid. His other hand locked around the neckline of his shirt, tugging at the garment as though it would ease the pressure crushing his sternum. He felt a sudden bolt of panic as he couldn't pull in another breath. He tried to tighten his grip on the person next to him, but there was no strength in his hand, and it dropped away. Muffled, he registered the sound of screaming, and something shuddered around him… but it was growing rapidly hazy… and he couldn't….

…..

When he was aware again, it felt like something was crushing his chest. There were frantic voices all around, and something was jammed chokingly down his throat. Disoriented and terrified, he thrashed to the side, trying to lift his arms to clear the blockage from his airway… but his arms wouldn't move…

The voices overlapped each other, hands moved above him, their shadows imprinted on his eyelids. He forced his hands still as the pressure in his chest slowly started to ease. However, a fresh pain was increasing exponentially in its place. His hands curled in fists, clenching thin cloth in a white-knuckled grip.

And then he felt like he was dropping, and everything faded out again.

Gus and Henry sat side by side, watching the still form on the bed.

Eight hours of surgery.

The path of the bullet through Shawn's chest had caused a terrifying amount of damage. Entering between the second and third ribs, it had nicked against the second rib, sending it careening through a lung and across the surface of the heart before finally exiting out the back, just to the left of the spine.

And now the two men had been sitting in that room, filling the silence with their own breathing, for four hours. Shawn hadn't moved once.

Twice, Gus had lifted his eyes to Henry's face, searching for something to say… but there was nothing… nothing…

And then his gaze was riveted to the unconscious man before him… to the long fingered hand lying on the bedding… the hand that, he swore, had just twitched. And suddenly, Henry was standing, leaning over the young man, his hands cradling pale cheeks.

"Shawn?"

Gus leaned forward, staring at the slack face, the dry lips, the blinking lids… he stood quickly, holding his breath.

Shawn's bleary eyes seemed to be struggling to focus, rolling around, squinting in the muted light. Unaware, Gus placed a hand on his friend's leg near the ankle. Next to him, Henry's eyes were locked on the young man's face.

"Come on son, wake up kiddo."

Shawn's eyes blinked again, and his head drooped to the side. Thankfully they'd removed the respirator earlier, so he was able to pull in a deep breath, earning an instant wince. Henry smoothed the hair off his forehead, smiling as Shawn's gaze finally seemed to clear.

"Hey." said the older man, resting his calloused hand on the young man's cheek above the oxygen mask.

Shawn's head tilted back, then turned, finally catching sight of his friend, still standing at the foot of the bed. He studied the other man for a moment, and then, suddenly, he smiled.

Gus's face broke instantly into a wide grin, and his hand tightened around Shawn's ankle as he breathed out in relief. "Welcome back…"


	11. 11 Memory

Henry stared at his son. Two years old, and already talking a mile a minute. In fact, it was impossible to get him to stop. He kneeled down in front of the toddler.

"Shawn, Shawney- who do you love?" The boy grinned toothily, tilting his head to the side.

"Love Gan'ma." He said sweetly, clasping his little hands over his head.

Henry tried again. "Come on Shawn, who do you love?"

Shawn wiggled back and forth, slapping pudgy fingers over his eyes. "Love Gan-pa." He giggled, dropping down on his diapered bottom.

"Last chance kid, who do you love?"

Shawn picked up his blanket, pulling the soft material through his hands until he found the corner. "Love pin'ipple." His grin was absolutely devious. Growling in mock irritation, Henry grabbed up the little boy and walked into the living room. His wife glanced up from her book, smiling as he held out their son.

"Here, you entertain him." Setting the kid in her lap, he was just starting to turn away when his wife made a noise of disgust. He looked back to see Shawn rubbing his palms together before wiping them both over the crown of his head. "What…?"

"He just spit in his hands and wiped it all over himself!" She said in exasperation.

Henry's eyebrows rose as he walked back towards his son, who blew another spray on his palms again. "Shawn… what on earth are you doing?"

The little kid smiled, rubbing his wet fingers over his tuft of dark hair. "Sp't c'eam." He said proudly, finishing up before reaching down to pull at his socks.

Henry just blinked, at a loss. "Did he just say spit cream? That's… gross!"

His wife suddenly laughed, holding the child with one hand while covering her eyes with the other. Henry regarded her bemusedly. "What?"

Still chuckling, she looked up at him. "I think your son just invented his own lotion! He watches me put it on every morning, and always wants some too- but he won't quit pestering for it until I put it away… I guess he just found a solution!"

Henry rubbed his forehead as his son slid from his mother's lap and raced across the floor to scribble in his coloring book. Henry was without words, and only one thought flitted across his mind. _My son is nuts._

0o0o0o0

Shawn stared across from his father, the forkful of mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Henry seemed to be fighting a smile. Looking down, he cut off another piece of steak. "Nothing… just thinking."

Shaking his head, Shawn shoved the bite in his mouth, swallowing quickly before speaking. "You know dad, there's times you make me think you're a little nuts."

His father just chuckled.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The characterizations listed describe my nephew Luke, who is has said or done all these things. (though Luke says 'jerky' instead of 'pineapple'). Yeah, I got to know my adorable nephew over Christmas and I couldn't resist!


	12. 72 Mischief Managed

The man was never this quiet. He had to be plotting something.

Or he could just be sleeping… oh Christ in a sidecar he WAS sleeping! At… no, correct that, ON Carlton's desk! And good God why was he wet?? And was that the Munderson file?!

"He has a cold."

Lassiter's body remained immobile, but his eyes flicked to O'Hara, who was currently battling a losing war against an incredibly toothy grin. Carlton's glance became a glare.

"Why is he draped across my blotter!" This was followed by the unasked question of why nobody else in the precinct seemed to notice or care that their resident spirit whisperer was collapsed in a boneless heap on the Head Detective's desk, leaking a thin line of drool. Oh, and lest we forget, he was WET!

"Well, he said his head hurt, and he was so pathetic, he just couldn't stop sneezing and I called Gus who said he'd be by to pick him up but he had to finish an appointment first and it would take another hour and a half so in the meantime I decided to share my stash of cold meds only I grabbed the wrong baggie cause it was the one that had the pain medication from that perp that knocked my shoulder out of joint and before I realized it he'd taken two and you're only supposed to take one and…"

"O'HARA SHUT UP!" Carlton gripped the sides of his head, staring at his subordinate with something like horror. No wait… it was definitely horror. Slowly rewinding the last few moments where she'd been rambling like a China white addict after a line, he blurted the first thing that occurred to him.

"You keep your prescriptions in a baggie??"

She blinked. "Well yeah… my purse is too small to carry my wallet, badge, gun, clip, extra clip, gum, AND a bottle, so I eliminated the bottle." She shrugged, still wincing a little at the residual pain from the aforementioned shoulder disjointing. "They're both oval white pills…"

Lassiter groaned. "God, do not turn blonde on me now…" He thought he'd been discreetly quiet, but apparently not enough as Juliet was suddenly pressing a finger into his sternum.

"I'm sorry, what was that?!"

Carlton could face down any criminal no matter what they were packing in bullets and balls- but the sight of his petite partner's blazing blue eyes flaming at his faux pas was enough to sap his personal testosterone reserves.

Thankfully, an unlikely rescuer in the form of his drippy nemesis saved him from losing his manhood. The fact that this rescue was carried out by a less than graceful unconscious kitty-roll from the desk to the floor was a mere bonus. The startled and pathetically disoriented yelp and subsequent one point two seconds of glassy mortification nearly made up for the soaked file and disarranged working space. This, thought Carlton bemusedly, is why they invented camera phones. As O'Hara bent to retrieve the battered psychic from his crumpled position near Carlton's chair, the detective pondered if he could barter for a copy of the security footage.

Spencer was moderately upright by this time, a semblance of his normal cocky expression hovering near his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth. His over-exuberant and slightly congested "Lassy-face!" only slightly marred by the sudden face-plant he took when his toe caught the edge of the chair he'd almost been lying under moments ago. By this time, the rest of the officers in the immediate area actually _were_ paying attention to the afternoon drama. Well, normally Lassiter could care less what attention Spencer's antics drew. The guy clearly thrived in the center ring. And yet… As his partner literally forced the other man to 'sit dammit!' in the twice-cursed chair, Carlton took another look at the fever-bright eyes that passed quickly around the room. It wasn't even close to enjoyment at the unintentional attention that colored the tips of the young man's ears, in spite of the half-hearted salute he awarded his audience.

Oh for all that was holy… "THIS ISN'T A BACKYARD BARBACUE PEOPLE, NOW GET BACK TO WORK!" Bellowed Carlton loudly. Immediately the station vibrated with renewed activity as the uniformed rubber-neckers looked everywhere but at the bedraggled man in their midst. That's right… if you ignore a pink elephant, it isn't real.

Reaching down, Lassiter yanked open the bottom drawer of his desk, fumbling past the stack of manuals and two filled known offenders books until he located the small plastic bag tucked at the back. Pulling it free, he gave it a vigorous shake before tossing it into Spencer's lap. At the confused look, he tilted his chin. "It's a cold pack- go ahead and keep it, I've got more. Though normally I use them 'because' of you…"

That smirk was back again, but Carlton was spared the expected quip when the young man placed the pack against his forehead and practically swooned in apparent bliss. It was actually somewhat indecent…

Realizing he wouldn't get any desk work done while his chair was occupied, Carlton sighed and opted for a cup of coffee during his impromptu break. Then he shook his head. Damn it, he was the Head Detective! If he wanted to sit down, he'd commandeer someone else's chair! He ignored the part of his brain that asked why he couldn't just take back his own. And he wasn't a push-over either! Firmly established with his own mental state, Carlton exactly prepared his mug, a personal indulgence he'd give up with as much likelihood as cutting off his… Clearing his throat, he stirred the slightly burnt liquid until it faded to a milky hazelnut. Taking an experimental sip, he nodded in satisfaction and returned to his desk.

Spencer was wilting again. Nearby, O'Hara sat at her own desk, shooting pitying glances at the rumpled psychic in between typing.

Suddenly the young man's body shook as he sneezed once, twice… and then again…

By the fifth one, Lassiter was striding forward. Latching one hand around Spencer's arm, he dragged the man to his feet. Juliet looked up sharply, but Carlton ignored her as he steered his drooping cargo across the station floor.

"Lassy, iv I'bd known you wanted to dance…"

"Shut up Spencer, I'm taking you home... and if you try to hug me I'll shoot you and leave you to bleed in a gutter."

Nodding wearily, the other man smiled. "Ib wouldn't dream ob it."

It was three steps from the exit when Carlton's brow suddenly furrowed. Pausing for just a moment, he looked the younger man up and down before, (and knowing instinctively he'd regret the answer), asking what had been on his mind since he first cause sight of Spencer passed out on his desk.

"Why, in the name of sweet justice, are you wet?"


	13. 69 Annoyance

_"-CHUW!"_ Shawn groaned, rubbing his nose. Of all the times…

He suppressed the next sneeze valiantly, but the effort made his head hurt. Still, it was a small sacrifice to make in light of the greater good. That greater good being the avoidance of an accident suddenly occurring up ahead- which he would likely NOT be able to do if his eyes kept squeezing shut involuntarily every time he- _"CHUW!"_ Dammit! Why did Gus have to insist on attending his little pharmaceutical pow-wow anyway? He'd actually be far happier, for once, if he was cuddled up in a car.

Slowing his bike with the traffic, he flipped up his visor and spit to the side. Wiping a thumb across his lips, he rolled to a complete stop. Around him, other drivers stopped as well; most with looks of irritated defeat. A couple of the more enterprising members of the sudden parking lot conditions used their horns to voice disapproval over the forced halt. Purposefully ignoring them all, Shawn took the opportunity to slide off his bike and remove his helmet. Turning off the rumbling machine, he decided to indulge his curiosity and investigate the accident for himself. It wasn't as though traffic would be progressing forward for a while in any event.

Rounding the crunched side of a toppled SUV, he noted the driver resting by the side of the freeway, a bunched shirt clutched in his hand and held tightly to his bleeding temple. By his side, a slender woman was speaking rapidly on a cell phone. Though moderately battered, the guy didn't appear to be dying… not that Shawn was capable of preventing that if he were. He was a psychic, not a doctor after all. Okay, he wasn't a psychic either. Much. But he did have great hair.

Further ahead, he could see the main source of the crash. Tucking his helmet under his arm, he slid around a smoking Subaru and approached the wreckage. Distantly, he could hear sirens as emergency vehicles attempted a delayed response. Feet crunching over slightly steamed tar, Shawn examined the three vehicles tangled together. It looked like a small station wagon had tried to play hopscotch with a Durango. In the process, it also brought in a lime green Festiva just for fun. If he had to guess, Shawn would figure total loss for every vehicle involved. Thankfully, though, it looked like the drivers had all managed to escape moderately undead. Though, by the look of a sickly dangling arm, one of the victims was going to need more than painkillers. Turning his head to sneeze again, something bright flashed across Shawn's vision. Blinking at the afterimage, he glanced up to see a small pond about fifteen feet to the right of the accident. Immediately his eyes widened as he saw the chrome bumper protruding from the depths.

"Oh God…"

Dropping his helmet, he raced forward through the thick brown grass filling the ditch. "SOMEBODY CALL FOR HELP! THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE WATER!!" he shouted over his shoulder. Not looking to see if anyone was responding, he scrambled across the short stretch of mushy earth towards the sunken car. A dart of panic consumed him when he saw the small hand pressed against the back window. Just before he reached the water, a woman surfaced, coughing and thrashing as she gripped the edge of the car.

"MIA! MIA!!" She looked up as Shawn leaped into the water near her. "MY DAUGHTER! HELP!!"

Not wasting a second, Shawn dove beneath the dank surface, kicking towards the open window the woman had escaped from. Pulling himself through the tiny opening, he looked towards the rear of the vehicle to see the girl, Mia, weakly slapping her hands against the rear windshield. Even as he wrestled his way over the front seat, her arms slowly went limp. Desperately, he lunged out his hand and caught the edge of her shirt with two fingers. Tugging her towards himself, he turned back to the window and saw the mother there. Dragging himself and the girl back over the front seats, he pushed the child at mother- who immediately wrapped an arm around the small chest and swam for the surface. Then, lungs already screaming, Shawn proceeded to follow her. Bracing his hands on the rim of the window, he started to push off from the inside of the car.

There was no warning.

Before he could escape, the vehicle suddenly dropped another four feet, bringing him with it. Then, almost as suddenly, it stopped; a cloud of debris boiling up from the sediment below as the vehicle thudded to an abrupt rest. His chest throbbing, Shawn made a second attempt to escape. Half his body hanging from the open window, he positioned his feet against the center console and pushed off… only to snap to a painful halt as something seemed to reach out and grab his foot. What! He turned his head sharply, but couldn't see through the drifting murk. Something was definitely tangled around his foot, but even as he kicked desperately, he could feel himself weakening. Feeling down his leg, he came across thin hard fabric. The damn seatbelt! It had somehow become tangled around his left ankle! Spots wafted across his eyes as he fumbled with the heavy material. It shouldn't be this difficult to get free! But in spite of his struggle, he just couldn't seem to make sense of the simple entanglement. By now, the edges of his vision had begun to darken. His body jerked as he battled the crushing need to inhale. Just before he blacked out, he had a second to reflect that, of all the times his dad wanted him to trade in his bike for a safer vehicle, it was the safety feature of this safer vehicle that would kill him.

0o0o0o0o0

"Guuaaahhhh!!!!" He blurted, expelling a gout of tepid water before flopping back to the ground, gasping harshly. After a second, he opened his eyes and looked up, noting distantly that his chest hurt.

"Oh thank God!" Breathed a shaken female voice somewhere out of his line of sight. Someone was leaning over him, and after a moment of confused scrutiny, he realized it was an EMT.

"You're gonna be okay buddy. Let's get you in the ambulance so we can check you out."

Still groggy and most definitely unsteady, he allowed the medical tech to support him as he wobbled to one of the ambulances parked near the accident. Absently he noted that traffic seemed to slowly be moving forward again as police cars directed vehicles around the pile of twisted metal. Finally, Shawn reached the back of the ambulance, and let his knees unhinge as he dropped to the metal floor, legs dangling to the ground. One of the EMTs wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm while another checked his airway and pupil response. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Shawn Spencer." He coughed roughly as he rubbed a free hand across his forehead.

"Do you feel lightheaded?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Any tightness in your chest?"

He winced, pressing his palm against his sternum. "Not really tightness… it kinda hurts a little though…"

"Probably from the CPR…"

"CPwhat!? You had to do CPR on me?!" He half stood, only to be pushed back down firmly with a hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, you weren't breathing when rescuers brought you to the surface. However, we were quickly able to revive you, so you hopefully didn't sustain any lasting injuries. However, I'd like to get you to the hospital for a more thorough exam…"

"I'm gonna have to pass on that." He said quickly, gaining his feet despite the protests of the man in front of him.

"Sir, you really should be checked out…"

He held up his hands. "No, really, I feel fine…"

He only managed one more step when something drippy and sobbing launched into his chest. He almost lost his footing, but managed to catch himself against the side of the other ambulance. Looking down, he saw the top of a ratty red head. It was the mother.

Grimacing at the liberal amount of fluids she was adding to his own supply, he awkwardly patted her on the back.

"Thank you… so much…" She managed between gasps. Looking over her shoulder, he saw the little girl, Mia, loaded on a stretcher and being wheeled towards a waiting emergency vehicle. As he caught her eyes, he saw her look up slightly, and smile. Lifting one hand, he gave a small wave. Then his attention returned to the crying female clutching his shirt.

"Uh, ma'am? I think they're ready to go…" She looked up, seeing her daughter being put into the ambulance. Nodding, she smiled weepily before squeezing Shawn's shoulder and hurrying after her child.

Free once more, Shawn sidestepped the EMT that tried, once more, to get him to go to the hospital. Instead, he walked back along the breakdown lane, scanning the ground. After just a few seconds, he located his abandoned helmet. Reaching down, he flinched as his chest burned a little. Grabbing the head gear, he carried it by the strap back to his parked motorcycle. Around him, the traffic was starting to move faster as towtrucks dragged the damaged vehicles off the road. There were fewer honks, but he managed to earn several dirty looks from drivers blocked by his bike.

Lifting a leg over the seat, he donned his helmet and painfully started the bike. Gunning the engine a little, he flipped up the kickstand with his heel and headed back onto the road, studiously ignoring the aggravated expression of the EMT as he passed the parked ambulance.

Within ten minutes, the packed traffic had broken up, and he had a more or less clear drive the rest of the way to the station. Still, by the time he arrived, any motivation he had to drum up business had evaporated.

Slinking to Lassiter's desk, he found the Head detective gone. Sitting down wearily on the edge of the desk, he gratefully accepted the soothing words of pity from Lassy's far cuter counterpart.

Adopting a wounded puppy expression, he prepared to launch into his tale of woe. He got as far as "I woke up with a cold" when his was caught off guard by a sneeze. And then another… and another… and… well he stopped counting after ten.

He thought he heard Jules asking if he wanted some cold medication, and he nodded absently. Moments later she was by his side, pressing a couple of pills in his hand and holding out a glass of water. Taking both gratefully, he tossed back the pills and gulped down the water, feeling a trickle run down his throat. Oh well, he was already wet.

Handing back the glass, he watched as Juliet set it on her own desk. A few moments after that, he blinked heavily. He was a lot more wiped out than he realized apparently! He felt himself sway slightly, and put one hand out to brace himself. To the side, he heard an alarmed murmur. Looking up, he saw Juliet standing beside the desk, a small bag of pills in each hand. Then she looked up at him in surprise.

"Oops… uh, Shawn…?"

And that was the last thing he heard as everything faded to clouds.


	14. 91 Drowning

Shawn fought, quite valiantly, not to tug anxiously at the collar of his shirt. His new shirt. His IRONED new shirt. After all, impressions were everything… even if they weren't first, second, or even third impressions. Okay, so how could he have known he'd been viewed all this time as a deviant in training? Truly, it had come as quite a blow. In fact, his ego was currently being squashed under the unblinking double glare laser-beaming across the table and through his forehead. He was certain it would leave a mark. He almost asked his dad if there was a smoking crater between his eyebrows, but Henry seemed like he was pretty focused on swallowing a healthy bite of turkey at the moment. Though, Shawn was fairly sure, it was avoidance and not hunger that drove his appetite.

Nearby, Gus loudly snapped his napkin before placing it in his lap. Now, as far as the reason for his best friend's ire, Shawn was convinced it had nothing to do with his five agonizing minutes of self implosion while trying to paint himself in the best possible light- obviously forgetting that paint worked better for blocking light than shedding it. Oh no no no. Gus, that sneaky snapdragon, was battling his own personal eager beaver verbal suicide bomb. _"I get mine!"_

"GUHUH!" Shawn immediately slapped a hand over his spasm induced laugh. Dark eyes, again, swiveled towards him… from all sides.

Boy, this really was a nice tablecloth…

"You know, Gus and I really are doing great with the Psych business! And you shouldn't worry about his health- he's actually getting really tough! He didn't even throw up the last time we found a body…"

He blinked. Did he just jab an ice-pick through his brain?

Gus's mom raised a thin eyebrow delicately. Somehow, though, she didn't really have to say anything to convey exactly what she thought of THAT; Gus's toe driving sharply into his shin notwithstanding.

His father still wasn't speaking, the sound of chewing his only contribution.

At the head of the table, Mr. Guster coughed quietly and spread butter over his mashed potatoes.

Shawn drummed his fingers on his thigh. He considered reaching for another biscuit, but the silent way Mrs. Guster was studiously eyeing him while she sipped at her wine sorta leeched the desire for flaky bread right out of him. Instead, he picked up his fork and slid his braised carrots from the left side of his plate to the right. Dragging the tines through his potatoes, he spread the fluffy mashed spuds across the top of the china. Next, becoming engrossed in the activity, he slid a couple of pieces of baby corn to the bottom in a horizontal line. The lone piece of turkey that remained was just about the right size. Lifting it to his mouth, he nibbled the edge until it morphed into the shape he needed. With a smile of satisfaction, he placed the fragment on the center of his plate.

God he was good! Amidst the remains of his meal appeared the face of SBPD's Head detective, sporting a delicious gravy tan. He was just thinking of asking to borrow Gus's camera phone when his father apparently glanced over.

"Shawn, stop playing with your food!"

He looked up quickly. Oh crap…

"I'm sorry the meal doesn't suit your exacting tastes." Said Mrs. Guster archly.

Shawn rubbed the back of his neck. He was really starting to question the wisdom of dressing in layers…

Gus was still shooting overly obvious pretend-subtle glances in his direction every few seconds. He knew his friend was still wanting him to do something, say something… preferably NOT self-destructive, to get him in good with the fam. The fact that a rabid monkey took over his vocabulary every time he opened his mouth wasn't really helping him any.

He really and truly would probably sound more intelligent if he just started quoting Family Guy. Surely the near poetic verbage of Peter Griffon couldn't be any less offensive than his own blazing Hindenbugian word confetti. Did he actually say something about Jesus not being black? Okay, bad enough when he actually controlled his own sentences, but this panic-induced autopilot topic tennis needed to die a swift and painful death. Possibly involving gasoline and a match.

And then, to his horror, he found himself clearing his throat again.

"Look, I know it was a while ago, but I just want to say I'm sorry about knocking over Great Grampa Guster's ashes when I was twelve. I totally didn't see the urn when I was jumping to catch the football…"

"You did what!?"

"Shawn, I didn't tell them about that!"

"You knocked over their grandfather's ashes!?"

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

"Did I say that?"


	15. 23 Cat

"You know, when I suggested a cat suit… I actually did have entirely something else in mind."

Juliet smirked as she pulled the giant Garfield head over her face.

"Well then Shawn, maybe next time you won't be so insistent on dictating what I wear for Halloween."

#23.2 Cat… again

Gus sucked the side of his hand.

"Aht cath aytes beee." He mumbled around his wounded palm.

"Oh come on Gus, he doesn't hate you… do you, you good little man… no you don't!" Nearby, Shawn cuddly kitty Kujo to his chest, rubbing 'her' belly while 'she' stretched luxuriously. A short distance away, Buzz and his wife spoke in mostly hushed whispers- the topic largely involving why the psychic required custody visits for a cat. A cat that, for his own reasons, he kept insisting was male, in spite of anatomy.

Examining his lacerated flesh, Gus considered that, maybe, Shawn might be onto something. After all… he never had this much trouble with the ladies… they actually considered him suave… charming… cute…

Glaring at the cat again, he managed to catch its eye- earning an ear-backed growl from its furry chest. For good measure, it shot its claws in his direction before relaxing again under his best friend's scratching fingertips.

Shawn was right, there was no way this cat was a girl.


	16. 24 No Time

"_**WHAT DID YOU GIVE HIM!"**_

The young man crouching across from Gus opened and closed his mouth silently, his over-wide eyes traveling down to the man on the floor between them, then back again. Nearby, a broken glass with just a few drops of soda remaining gave mute accusation as to what had taken place just minutes ago. By this time, most of the partiers had vanished, taking any remaining product with them. At the moment, the only evidence left, ironically, was currently rushing through Shawn's bloodstream, courtesy of the brain-dead idiot shivering with terrified horror under Gus's furious gaze.

"_**TALK!"**_ He demanded, feeling Shawn's body start to shake harder.

"It was just a little G, nothing big, I only slipped him a little! He looked like he could use a buzz!" The teen stood quickly, backing away as Shawn moaned and rolled onto his side. "I didn't… I didn't mean it…" He whispered harshly, clasping his arms around his midsection as he backed away.

Gus inhaled sharply. _G… as in __gamma hydroxybutyrate?! But that stuff could_… "What do you mean by a little!!!" He demanded as the kid shook his head.

"I… I don't remember…"

Suddenly Shawn lurched to his knees, crawling a short distance to vomit on the carpet.

Gus was about to rush to his side when he saw the kid half-stumbling for the door. Making an abrupt directional shift, he lunged forward and hooked clawing fingers in the hemline of a GAP exclusive faux turtle-neck.

This kid hit the floor with a less than elegant face-dive. Driving a knee into the middle of a narrow back, Gus leaned down menacingly. "You aren't going anywhere unless you intend to face attempted murder charges! And if he…" he swallowed, eyes darting to Shawn's collapsing form. "If anything happens to him- this is on you!" He finished, releasing the boy and hurrying back to the side of his friend. "Now call nine one one!" He shouted, easing Shawn onto his side in case he needed to throw up again. Behind him, he could hear the soft flick of a cell phone- then a three number dial. Moments later, the kid started speaking rapidly. Ignoring the conversation, Gus placed a hand on his friend's forehead, gasping at the heat coming off his clammy skin.

"Damn it…" He whispered roughly, peeling off Shawn's outer shirt. Beneath his hands, Shawn's body shook violently, his teeth chattering as he clenched his hands into fists. His eyes were open wide, but Gus wasn't sure he was seeing what was in front of him. This was quickly confirmed when Shawn abruptly laughed, reaching out for something just beyond Gus's shoulder. Unthinkingly, Gus reached for Shawn's hand.

The reaction was instant.

Jerked back madly, Shawn suddenly lashed out, knocking Gus on his back. Without a pause, he followed up his first strike with a wild fist that buried itself in Gus's stomach. Groaning, the other man wrapped his hands around his midsection. For his part, Shawn scrambled to his feet and took three shaky steps before collapsing again. Even before Gus managed to struggle upright he could see Shawn was deteriorating.

"How long till the ambulance gets here!" He screamed, holding Shawn's wrists as the other man tried to claw at himself.

"J-just a couple of m-minutes!" Was the response, quickly followed by, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…I just can't…" And even as he was turning, Gus heard the rapid pounding of sneakered feet as the kid tore away and disappeared down the hall.

Swiftly forgetting about the abandonment, Gus stared sickly down at his friend. Shawn's face was almost bloodless, and beaded with a thin layer of sweat. His eyes were still glassy, but were half-lidded as he stared up towards the ceiling, his shivering interspersed by small jerks as though he were being shocked repeatedly.

"Shawn… come on dude…" Gus hardly knew what to say. He didn't know what to do other than keep Shawn from hurting himself. Unfortunately, his line of business- though teaching him all about the side effects of various drugs, legal and otherwise- didn't do a bit of good for the current situation. He wasn't carrying any benzodiazepines in his sample case. And though he did have blood pressure tablets, the case was in his trunk, and there was no way he was leaving Shawn to retrieve them.

His friend jerked again, then started to choke. Rolling him quickly, Gus held a hand under a quaking chest, the other cradling a burning forehead as Shawn's stomach heaved, relieving itself for the second time in minutes. Outside, Gus could hear the swiftly approaching bellow of an ambulance. He closed his eyes in both silent thanks and suppressed nausea as sound and smell fought for dominance. Still half on his knees, Shawn coughed, then vomited a third time. Gus felt a stab of ice in his ribs when he saw this last ejection contained threads of rust.

Lying Shawn back on his side, Gus listened as footsteps thudded up the sidewalk and through the front door. _**"WE'RE IN HERE!"**_ He shouted, noting that Shawn's eyes were now completely closed.

"_**HURRY!!"**_


	17. 76 Broken Pieces

The first day, even before they got to the emergency room, he went into convulsions. His heartbeat rose dangerously, and there was a real fear that he might have an attack. After he was stabilized, after he was strapped down on a cot, after he made friends with a syringe… only then did Gus think to call Henry.

The blistering eruption after he summarized what happened left his ear stinging even five minutes after he finally clipped the cell shut.

Needless to say, Gus avoided Henry's presence for over an hour after the old man arrived.

On the second day, Shawn had his first panic attack. Gus wasn't entirely certain what triggered it, if anything. One moment, Shawn was more or less calmly sleeping. Then, a nurse stopped in to check on him, take his temperature, adjust his IV, and so on. As she was leaving, Gus stood to look out the window. Suddenly he heard a gasp, and turned to see Shawn, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the corner of the room. Almost immediately he started thrashing on his bed, pulling desperately at his restraints.

Both Henry and Gus raced to his side, holding his arms while Henry slapped at the call button.

In seconds, nursing staff filled the room, semi-calmly taking over, but allowing Henry and Gus to remain close while they injected, soothed, and calmed.

When they finally left again, Shawn was sleeping.

On the third day, Shawn had a second and third panic attack. They weren't any easier to handle due to repetition either.

Also on the third day, Shawn had another convulsion.

On the forth day, Henry finally shaved in the small bathroom in the ICU. It was awkward, and he nicked himself twice.

Gus decided to pass on the razor.

Shawn slept all day.

On the fifth day, Shawn deliriously opened his eyes and, with a voice like veteran smoker, asked for a glass of water. When Henry pushed the paper cup towards his reaching fingers, he suddenly screamed and slapped it away.

On the sixth day, Juliet and Lassiter stopped by for a visit, but didn't enter the room. Shawn's blood-pressure had gone up again, and he'd become feverish. Nurses were restricting access for all visitation. The detectives spoke for a few minutes, a skill Juliet excelled in where her partner lacked. Then, with hugs from the female half, they left.

On the seventh day… on the seventh day, sunlight made soft patterns on the tile floor, casting warmth around the cool-toned room. On the seventh day, Gus finished reading the latest Tom Clancy novel, promptly forgetting the plot the second he closed the back cover. On the seventh day, Henry drank half a cup of stale coffee, finally giving up the effort and dumping the rest down the sink. Gus turned away when he saw the other man's fingers shaking where they gripped the porcelain edge. Also on the seventh day, a nurse delivered a vase of flowers with an anonymous note attached… a note that simply said "I'm sorry". Gus crushed them into the waste-basket.

They waited, watching breath stream in and out.

They prayed, never closing their eyes as silent supplication rose between them.

They feared, knowing each pulse beat rising, dipping, and rising again, might suddenly… stop.

They didn't speak.

And, on the seventh evening on the seventh day… Shawn opened his eyes…


	18. 94 Last Hope

Shawn poked at the flaky crust with the tip of his fork. He could swear his piece was smaller than everyone else's…

Taking a bite, he closed his eyes in obviously obvious enjoyment.

"MMMMMMMM!!!! Wow! This pie is, dare I say, scrumptious? You know, this reminds me of a time when Gus and I were twelve, and I took him out past Johnson Park where I found some wild strawberries. We must-of picked like, a hundred!"

Gus's mother nodded. "I remember. He came home with the worst case of poison oak I've ever seen. He missed school for a week."

Shawn bent back over his plate.


	19. 41 Teamwork

"You're dropping your side!"

"No I'm not, the floor is just slanted…"

"Shawn, they're spilling!"

"Ouch ouch ouch!"

"What happened, are you okay?"

"I smacked my littlest piggie on the doorframe."

"Littlest 'piggie'?"

'…….'

"My little toe…"

"You called it your littlest piggie…"

"Okay, I admit, I was in a bit of pain at the time…"

"Shawn, that's so cute!"

"Jules please, there are uniformed guys within hearing range, ixnay on the utes-cay!"

"Sorry…. Oh, Careful, careful! Whoa, Duck!"

'….. '

"Damn, that was close…"

"Do you think he saw us?"

"Well, not unless he's suddenly sprouted awesome crab eyes to match his personality…"

"Ouch, ooo, Shawn, that was awful, I was really expecting something wittier…"

"I promise to upscale my banter once I'm not being weighed down by half of a forty pound vase…"

"Okay, he got up again- hurry, before he comes back!"

"Considering he just went for coffee, I think we have plenty of time… we could probably even install a wheelchair ramp too."

"Come on, it's just a cast… a handicap assistance bar would be more than adequate!"

"Jules! That was awesome!"

"Thank you!"

"Here, let me move this file… there."

"Oh my God, I didn't realize how huge it was!"

"Please… please tell me you're kidding…"

"Yikes, he's coming back!"

"Here, get behind the pillar!"

"Omph- Shawn, is it really necessary to hug…"

"Shh- no choice, we need to be a condensed as possible or he'll see us…"

"heeheehee…"

"Jules- shushies!"

snerk

….

.…

..…

"To Detective Carlton Lassiter, 'roses are red, violets are blue, remember to shoot first, before they shoot you….'"

_"**ALRIGHT, WHO'S THE JACKASS THAT LEFT A VASEFUL OF BULLETS ON MY DESK!"**_


	20. 68 Hero

"We had a really funny case one time; there was guy who thought he was being haunted…"

**"We should go out caroling."** Interrupted Gus rapidly, and loudly. To his relief, his suggestion was met with quick agreement.

Henry was the first one to rise to his feet and grab his coat. Apparently he was trying to put some distance between himself and the dead man walking.

On the way out the door, Gus paused for just a second to level a glare at his friend. "You owe me, big time." He said tightly. He started to turn, then glanced over his shoulder. "And try not to do anything stupid."

As he pulled his hat over his ears, Shawn grinned widely, spreading his arms. "Dude relax! How can anyone screw up caroling?"


End file.
